Lilacs in Her Hair
by thewildandwindynight
Summary: Joan is a hippie that lives in San Francisco, living her dream of making a difference. When she runs into the Beatles on the street, her world turns upside down.
1. If You're Going to San Francisco

Joan's POV:

The San Francisco sun beamed down on my face, making the tattered yellow quilt that I was sitting on look brighter than ever. It was August '68: I sat with my friend Mary, weaving daisies and feathers into headbands.

I tied mine off and put it on top of my long, dark brown hair like a halo. "It looks perfect," gasped Mary as she crowned her curly, caramel hair with her own halo.

She stood up, and the grass brushed against her bare feet. She wore woven shorts and a cotton shirt, and nearby was her protest sign that read, "Make love, not war!"

"Are you ready to go?" she inquired, helping me up. I was barefoot like her, but I wore a thin white dress and a fringed vest with embroidered flowers on it, along with a pair of small circular sunglasses. "Never been readier," I laughed, and we made our way to a worn trail that cut through a cluster of apartment complexes to get to downtown.

"If you're going to San Fransisco," I started.

"Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair," we both sang in harmony, laughing.

The soft dirt sifted under my feet, warm from the sun. The earth soon collided with hot, black concrete that was covered in muddy footprints. The road stretched out ahead, covered in other protesters chanting.

"Love one another!"

Mary's brown eyes looked into my green ones, and we both smiled. She grabbed my hand and dragged me further into the crowd, beaming with excitement.

"We're actually making a difference, Joan! This is our generation!" I nodded, and we both joined along with the chanting. People around us were dancing, their hands clapping in the humid air.


	2. Across the Universe

Paul's POV:

"Would you hurry up!?" shouted John, obviously in distress.

"John, it's not the end of the world. We'll find it," Ringo reassured as we swam through the crowd. Suddenly John stopped and spun around.

"Ringo, you don't even know, do you!? That was a bloody brilliant song. I had all the lyrics written down, and I've lost the paper! I mean, I have a feel for how it goes, but it won't be the same!"

Ringo bit his lip nervously as we continued to hurry through the mass of people, scanning the ground for John's lyrics and hiding our faces from potential fans.

Suddenly I saw a piece of muddy yellow paper flitting along the ground nearby. I grabbed John's arm and we ran after it. We probably looked like idiots: like children chasing butterflies. How John had managed to lose his song amidst a group of hippies in San Francisco, I would never know. The band and I had come here on holiday, and John had let Yoko tag along. He'd probably been sitting in a field with her writing, when he lost it. That sounded a lot like something he would do.

"How on earth did you lose this?" I ask him, quickly stomping on it with my boot before picking it up and slipping it into my pocket.

"It's none of your business," he snapped, and I left it at that. I took out the lyrics and started reading them, as the group and I walked ahead. "Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. They slither as they pass they slip away across the universe."

"Wow John, this is so poeti-"I was cut off as I tripped over something.

Looking down, I saw a girl sitting on the curb. She had long, shining dark brown hair that fell to her hips, and she was fair-skinned. She looked at me with big, green eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir, am I in your way?" she asked sarcastically, standing up and placing a hand on her slender waist.

I could see John snickering a few feet back.

"No, actually. I guess I just need to watch where I'm going, don't I?" I replied dryly.

Her lips twisted into a smirk. "Yeah, I guess you do. Aren't you that McCartney guy?" she asked coolly.

"Yes, that would be me," I laughed, throwing her a wink.

Here eyes widened for a second, but she quickly regained her composure, a sly look creeping onto her face. "Oh, I'm Joan. Joan Summers. Nice to meet you, Paul."

She curtsied jokingly, her thin white dress flowing out behind her. I smiled awkwardly, and she walked over to her friend, who was a ways back.

I watched in amusement as her curly-haired friend spun her around and marched her back over to me. "I apologize for Joan's rudeness," she giggled, and Joan turned a bright shade of red.

Trying not to laugh, I turned to her. "No, it's quite alright. But maybe Joan would like to join me for dinner?"

The curly-haired girl nodded frantically. "Of course she would!"

"Then I guess it's a date," I smiled, walking over to John, George and Ringo.

"James Paul McCartney: getting dates by force since 1957," laughed John.


	3. Make Yourself Pretty

Mary's POV:

"I can not believe you just did that," Joan said bitterly.

"Oh, lighten up. You guys would be adorable together," I laughed, and she crumpled her face up, obviously trying not to smile.

"Just because you have a thing for George doesn't mean that you can do that!" she cried, her voice sounding high-pitched and frustrated.

"Oh, I do not. Besides, maybe becoming Paul's girlfriend will convince you to listen to their wonderful music," I teased, and Joan elbowed me.

I had been a hardcore Beatlemaniac since 1963. And actually, Joan was right, I did love George. It took everything I had to resist talking to him when we were talking to Paul. For one thing, George was married. I wasn't the kind of girl that would try to take him away from his wife Pattie. Also, when she and Paul started dating more frequently, I would get plenty of chances to talk to George. But for now, I was going to play it cool, and I was determined to not scare George away. It all worked into an elaborate plan. By getting Paul and Joan together, I could get her to listen to the kind of music I like, as well as befriend George. It was brilliant. I was snapped out of my thoughts when Joan began tapping me. "Mary, can we please go home now?" she sighed.

"But we were only at the protest for an hour and a half!" I cried.

Joan looked at me with a look of pure hatred in her eyes.

"I want to go," she said again, rubbing her temples with her hands.

"You know what? Go on without me. I'll meet you back at your apartment in an hour to make sure that you get to your date. Go get ready. Make yourself pretty."


	4. The Preparations

Joan's POV:

I swung open the creaky door of my tidy apartment, walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I sat at my table, my head in my hands, taking the occasional sip of refreshing water. Suddenly I remembered something; The Beatles would be going back to England! I didn't have to worry about a thing. I wouldn't get trapped into becoming McCartney's girlfriend, because he was just on vacation.

Relieved, I stood up and went into my bathroom, closing the door behind me and letting my dirty clothes slip to the cold linoleum floor. I filled up the tub with warm water, which I then infused with assorted bath oils and soaps. The room was filled with a feminine, soupy perfume, and it was honestly wonderful. I slid into the silky water, letting it embrace my body. I washed the mud out of my long hair, and combed by bangs over my forehead, tying the rest into a messy bun. I scrubbed grime, dust, and dirt off of my creamy skin until it was smooth. I didn't usually take such luxurious baths, because everybody else in the hippie culture looked down on grooming and bathing.

I stepped out of the tub, wrapping myself in a towel and heading to my closet. I looked through the racks of clothing and eventually decided on a knee-length navy blue dress, with a red stripe around the skirt. I brushed out my hair and dried it, styling it into loose curls that fell down my back, and pulling it into a low side ponytail. I applied a little bit of mascara, pale lipstick, and a touch of eyeliner. I heard a knock on the door, so I went and let Mary in.

She stood in the doorway, her jaw practically on the floor. "You-you look so different…" she stammered, and grabbed my arm. "Paul's waiting for you in the lobby," she whispered, and so I made my way downstairs.


	5. Pick Up

Paul's POV:

She walked into the lobby, her ponytail swinging out behind her, and her eyes looking prettier than ever, framed by her thick eyelashes. She looked uncomfortable and shy, very different from the girl that had sassed me earlier.

I offered my arm out to her, and she grabbed it nervously, a shy smile dancing across her pale lips. "So I guess you're one of those girls that acts really brave and arrogant, but in reality you're shy and insecure?" I asked, watching her dainty face for a reaction. She scrunched up her nose.

"No. It's just I figured that if my friend will force me into dating you, I might as well pretend like I'm enjoying it."

Ouch.

"What's your friend's name, love?" I asked, brushing off her last comment and escorting her into the hot air of the night.

"Mary."

"Oh, wonderful. I was thinking of taking you to a rather nice Italian café a few blocks away? You live in such a nice area," I said, gaping at my surroundings. She really did. Downtown San Francisco was gorgeous. She nodded, staring at her feet.

I walked her down to the restaurant, and an enthusiastic waiter sat us down and asked us what we wanted to drink.

"I'll have a Coke," I said.

"Same," she said unenthusiastically.

Well wasn't this just off to a great start?


	6. As If

Joan's POV:

About fifteen minutes later, I sat there, my face resting in my hand, stirring my food absentmindedly.

"So, what are your hobbies?" he asked.

Suddenly, he had my attention. I jerked my face up, looking him in the eyes for the first time that night. "I play guitar, piano, and oboe. Oh, and I also paint," I said, a smile creeping upon my lips.

"Wow, you really love music and art, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, looking shyly under the table.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes, before Paul stood up. "Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked in his accent and I thought for a second.

"Sure," I said quietly. Paul helped me out of my chair, offering me his arm.

"As if," I scoffed, pushing his arm away. He looked quietly off to the side, and I felt a dark sense of guilt wash over me. We walked awkwardly outside, and Paul looked at his feet. "So where to?" he asked, still not looking up.

This was so different than the McCartney I had met earlier. I had perceived him as an arrogant try-hard, that was just trying to take me out so that he could tell his friends that he had yet another girl. Now, it seemed like he was actually trying to make me opophappy. I suppose that he was so used to girls falling for his charm, that he usually didn't have to try.

"I don't care where we go," I said, trying to sound a little bit more polite. We ended up walking around downtown, going to little shops and drinking tall cups of coffee. The stars shone out bright, dotting the blue complexion of the night like freckles.


	7. The Necklace

Paul's POV:

We walked into a small trinket shop, with shelves of glass, jewelry, and candles lining the walls. It smelled like cinnamon and lemon, and I could see Joan's face light up as she walked over to a necklace. It was delicate rose gold, with a light purple stone set in the middle of a flower charm.

"You want it?" I asked, walking up behind her. She whipped around, her long curls brushing against the shelves. "No," she said quickly.

"I just have a fascination with alexandrite," she said.

"With what?" I asked, a look of confusion rising on my face.

She began laughing. "It's this stone," she explained, pointing out the center of the flower. "It's alexandrite, my birth stone. I was born in June. Actually, I was almost named June, but my parents thought that it was too tacky. So they named me Joan instead."

"Well that's a lovely name," I smiled, and she began blushing.

"So is that the only reason you like the necklace?" I asked, fishing in my pockets to make sure I had my wallet.

"Well I love flowers. I like it because the chain is rose gold, and the flower with the purple reminds me of the lilacs that my mother grew whenever I was little. Lilacs are my favorite flower, and this necklace is just so simple and beautiful."

I picked it up, and saw that it was two-hundred American dollars. Oh well, Joan was worth it. I didn't know her that well yet, but she was different. Most girls dated me solely because I was a Beatle. Joan didn't even listen to The Beatles, and she was so passionate about making art.

"I'm going to the restroom," Joan said quietly, slipping to the back of the store.

I took out some American money that I had picked up from the bank earlier, and gave it to the salesman. He wrapped up the necklace in an elegant navy blue box, and stamped a gold seal on it. "Good luck," he smiled, taking the money and winking at me as Joan walked out of the bathroom. "You bought it!?" she practically screamed.

"Yes, love," I smiled, and I could see her pretty face crumple up.

"I told you not to! It's so expensive, and-" tears filled her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" I asked in alarm.

"Nothing. Please take me home," she sniffed, and I quickly grabbed her hand to walk her home.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, and I awkwardly walked alongside of her, until we reached her apartment complex.

"Thank you," she said. "I might call you again. I'm not angry at you, if that's what you think. I'm just-" she cut herself off. "Can I have your number?"

I nodded, scrawling it on the receipt from the necklace, and slipping it into the box as I gave it to her. She took it reluctantly, and ran into the building, her hair bouncing behind her.

Why is she so hard to read?


	8. Michael

Mary's POV:

The door swung open, and Joan slumped into her emerald armchair, tears pouring out of her sparkling green eyes.

"Joan?" I asked hesitantly, and she screamed.

"Mary! Why on earth are you still at my apartment!? I've been out for three hours! What have you been doing?" I couldn't tell if she was just upset, or positively livid.

"I- I've just been writing poetry and waiting for you. I was just really excited to hear about how your date went," I whimpered, my face growing hot.

Suddenly, Joan was laughing silently, running into a wall in the process. She bent over, gripping her stomach and trying to stop.

"Joan?" I asked, a smile growing on my lips. She caught her breath and stood up straight.

"Mary. Only you would literally wait in my apartment for three hours to hear about something as silly as a date."

Her smile soon faded back into a frown, and she slipped into the restroom to wash the tears from her pale face.

"Are you alright?" I asked, and she emerged from the bathroom and nodded.

"Yes, it's just- well, he gave me this lovely necklace. It was very expensive, too… two hundred dollars to be exact. I was just surprised, because it was our first date. And when he gave it to me, it just- it reminded me of Michael."

"Oh, Joan," I sighed, and went over to hug her.

"Paul isn't like Michael. Paul wouldn't ever hit a girl. Ever. Don't worry."

"But Mary! You don't even know Paul! He didn't seem threatening, but Michael didn't either. That's why I was so angry at you when you told Paul that I would date him. You didn't even consider that maybe I was frightened, considering what happened the last time I had a boyfriend. You don't even know how terrifying it is, to be backed up in a corner, while the man you love hits you repeatedly. Says horrible things to you. He even threatened to kill me!" Joan protested, beginning to cry again.

"Joan, I'm so sorry. But Paul will never hit you. Haven't you ever listened to The Beatles?" She shook her head bitterly.


	9. Worth a Try

Joan's POV:

Mary sighed.

"Meet me at my condo tomorrow morning. We haven't done girl stuff together in the longest time."

I cracked a small smile. "Okay. Goodnight, Mary." I escorted her to the door.

When she left, I fell into my bed, letting the cool white sheets embrace me. I threw off my dress, and eventually gathered up the strength to wash my face and let my hair down, before turning off the lights and nestling into my bed.

I lay there in the warm night, and a breeze from my open window gently rustled the sheer curtains. I needed to call Paul again. He had given me his hotel's phone number, and after I hung out with Mary, I decided that I would give him a call.

I woke up to the golden sun shining onto my beige carpeted floors. I rolled out of bed, and to the shower. After drying and brushing my long hair, I slipped into a casual lacy dress, and put my hair in a beehive up-do, crowning it with my signature wreath of daisies.

I took a cab to Mary's condo, where I knocked on the red wooden door. I could hear music blaring inside, of course. Mary loved her music. She opened the door and hugged me, before yanking me into the condo.

"Is this The Beatles?" I sighed, and Mary nodded enthusiastically.

"So are you going to call him again?" she asked, raising a thin eyebrow.

"Yes, I was going to call him this afternoon. I feel like I should explain to him why I was so nasty to him. I just- I don't know. I don't know if he genuinely likes me, or if he wants to show me off to his married friends."

"All you need is love," sang the record player, and Mary threw me an 'I-told-you-so" look.

"See, they write about love!" she said, obviously suppressing giggles.

I thought about what I would say to Paul. I doubted that he even liked me after he saw how bitter and hostile I was. I was sure that he would just find another girl, and he would forget about me forever. He probably wouldn't even want to see me again. Oh well, it was worth a try. After a few hours of hanging out with Mary, I went home and dialed the hotel's number into the phone.


	10. Underwater Police Cars

Paul's POV:

The hotel room's phone began ringing.

"Aw, I bet it's that sassy little bird that you're practically in love with," cooed John.

"Oh shut up," I snapped, rushing over to the phone.

"Hello, this is room 467?" I answered.

"I was asked to forward a call to you, the caller's name is Joan Summe-"

"Forward it," I said, cutting him off. The monotonous voice of the receptionist was replaced by a sweet, feminine voice.

"Hello?" she said nervously.

"Well good afternoon, Joan," I said, trying not to smile in order to avoid the ridicule and teasing from John, George, and Ringo.

"I- I was wondering if you'd like to go somewhere this evening," she stammered.

"Of course, my love. Where to?"

I began to silently curse myself for calling her "my love." I knew that she was touchy about affection, and she already hated me. I didn't even know why she was asking me out again. The line was silent for a while, so I expected her to hang up.

"Um, what about the lake near my apartment?"

"It sounds lovely. What time should I pick you up? Seven o' clock?" I asked, surprised that she was still talking to me.

"Wonderful. See you then!"

It was already six, so I put on jeans and a button up cotton shirt. I sprayed on a bit of expensive cologne, popped in a breath mint, and made my way over to Joan's apartment complex.

She was already down in the lobby, pacing back and forth nervously. Her white, lacy dress brushed her skinny knees, and her feet looked delicate in her mint green kitten heels. Her shiny hair was piled on top of her head in a beehive style, and a crown of small daisies rested upon her hair like a tiara. She looked up quickly, her thick, long lashes blinking against her emerald eyes like a butterfly fluttering it's wings. When she saw me, her face lit up a bit, and her cheeks became rosy. I walked over to her and offered my arm, and this time she took it, and her hand slid down to mine, our fingers intertwining.

I looked up, and I probably looked shocked, because in all honestly, I was.

"Aren't you angry at me?" I asked, and she shook her head.

"No, not at all. I'm so sorry for the way I behaved on our last date, and I understand that you probably hate me," she said quietly, looking down at her feet.

"Joan, I don't hate you," I said as we walked across the street to the park.

"You don't?" she asked meekly, looking into my eyes.

"Not at all," I smiled, and I took a seat on the pier that overlooked the lake.

"This water is so pretty," she laughed, trying to change the subject.

"I know. It's a shame that we can't swim in it, you know?"

She smiled mischievously. "Who says we can't?"

"That sign right over there, actually," I said, gesturing to it.

She rolled her sparkling eyes, before gently pushing me into the cold water. I came up to the surface, before grabbing her arm and pulling her in after me. She began giggling, and splashed me, her dress clinging to her body, and her daisy crown askew. I splashed her back, and she jumped onto my back, pushing both of us under the water. We emerged, and I noticed that she was shivering.

"Wow, this is colder than I expected," she gasped.

I gently wrapped my arms around her, hoisting her up and carrying her out of the water like a princess. We reached the muddy bank, and I looked at her beautiful eyes.

I leaned over, kissing her soft lips, only to be interrupted by the yellow glow of a police car's headlights.


	11. The Hollow

Joan's POV:

"Run," I whispered into his ear, and he set me down, grabbing my hand and running into the nearby forest.

We found shelter in a tree hollow, and he took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around my shaking shoulders. He scooted in close to me, and I looked into his doe-eyes.

"They're probably gone now," I whispered, and he pecked me on the cheek.

"I know, but I don't care. I think it's nice here. So how come you're all of a sudden cooperating with me?" he laughed, winking.

"Well, I decided that I was kind of nasty to you last time. I needed to redeem myself."

"Is that the only reason?" he asked, and his face fell.

"You're only being like this because you pity me?"

"No, that's not it at all!" I protested, and he shook his head.

"I should have known that you were too good for me-" he started, but I cut him off.

"Paul… do you actually think that I'm too good for you?"

He just looked down at me, a sorrowful expression on his face.

"Well, I can tell you- I'm not near good enough," I whispered, and pulled his face down to kiss it.

"Joan, I'm going to miss you so much whenever we go back to England."

I jumped up, hitting my head on a branch.

"I can't believe I forgot you were leaving! I'm so stupid! I always do things like this. I got myself all excited that you actually like me, only to remember that you're leaving me!"

Paul looked shocked.

"Joan, I'm sorry… but we can't just stay here forever. We'll only be here for another week."

"Well… maybe I could go with you…" I said, and Paul looked at me.

"Do you actually care that much?" he asked.

"Yes."


End file.
